by Vonna Harper
When would this punishment end and her reward, if that’s what it was, begin?
His expression, or rather lack of one, didn’t change. He didn’t look into her eyes, focusing instead on painting her where he wanted her painted. Every time she faced him, she vowed not to try to back away, but her feet had minds of their own. Unfortunately, she had no place to go and no idea when this would end. Sweat coated every inch of her and her stretched body begged for relief as he snapped his fingers and held up his hand. As she complied with his unspoken command, she thought back to teaching horses to stop via pressure on the reins. She would have never beaten one.
“Let’s see if they’re adequately warmed up,” Cliff said. “It doesn’t take much to get my bitch going anymore, but yours hasn’t had as much time for the behavior modification to have sunk in.”
“I’m curious myself.” Master draped the whip over her shoulder.
He planted himself close so her sensitive nipples pressed against his middle and pushed back on her shoulders, lifting her off her feet. He’d moved to the side by the time she swung into place. He pushed again. Back and forth she went. No matter that she dragged her feet on the floor, he easily kept her in motion. Her arms bore her full weight, the strain making them burn. The same heat reached her crotch.
“Interesting.” He planted his splayed hand on her chest and brought her to a halt. “I turned her into a living swing.”
Cliff had been doing the same to his slave. “I get a kick out of demonstrating control in unique ways.” He ran a hand between the other woman’s legs. The way his hand was angled, Marina guessed he’d placed a finger inside her. “Well what do you know? Her system’s still in perfect working order. It’s amazing what a little tuning can accomplish. How about your bitch?”
The way Master sucked in a breath, she wondered if he’d order Cliff to clean up his language, but after a moment, he slipped both hands between her legs and pressed against her inner thighs. She had no choice but to spread her legs until she was standing on her toes.
Master was again dominating her body, turning it into his plaything, his experiment. She told herself she didn’t exist for his pleasure, but was it a lie? After all, he ruled everything about their so-called relationship.
Not just their relationship, what made her a woman.
He didn’t immediately check her pussy for moisture and each second thrummed through her. She was waiting for Master, waiting to be touched, stimulation building, knowing what was coming, unable to hurry things along.
“How about it, slave?” Master asked. “Think your body’s going to be honest today?”
It would because she had no control over it. He knew that, just as he knew countless other things about her, including the sorrow and guilt at her father’s death that she still held in her heart.
Anxious waiting ended the instant he cupped his broad hand over her pussy. She entered a new existence. He no longer pushed on the insides of her thighs, but it made no difference, because his hand kept her from closing her legs. He lifted her off the ground. Even with him cradling her, she started to tip back. Her tethered arms prevented her from completely losing her balance. She hung where he’d hoisted her, with her legs dangling on either side of his muscled arms.
“It’d be a lie if you told me I’m not one hundred percent in charge,” he said. “Good thing you’re gagged. This way you aren’t tempted to insist you have any say in the matter. And for the record, Cliff, my palm’s sticky.”
She’d been aware of her sexual heat from the moment Master had come for her, but it had taken second place to first the whipping, followed by being turned into a human swing, followed by this unnerving demonstration of his strength. Master had done those things just as he’d do everything else he wanted to her.
“What about it, slave? Are you ready to get down to business?”
She nodded.
“Because?”
Memories from yesterday swamped her. When she’d crawled on top of Master and welcomed his cock into her hungry core, he’d fulfilled her in ways she’d never experienced. She’d felt complete, cherished even. Bold and submissive at the same time. Free and a slave to her woman-needs. She keenly remembered how fucking him had allowed her to dismiss her burning legs and the collar’s reality. How she’d spun mindlessly into a volcano. A volcano she longed to return to today.
Trusting he’d understand her message, she squeezed his hand as best she could while gazing at where his legs joined. His erection sent a message that needed no explanation.
“My slave’s getting pretty good at wordless communication,” he said as he let her down. She stood on hot, uncertain legs.
“That’s a vital skill for someone wearing a gag and unable to use arm gestures,” Cliff replied. “I hope you don’t have any issues with watching someone else get it on, because I’ve been waiting long enough. You’re more than welcome to stay.”
“I intend to. Like you said, a slave better understands her situation if she sees it being played out in someone else.”
By the time Master released the rope holding her arms over her head, Cliff had already hauled his slave over to the bed and was tying her spread-eagled to it. He’d placed a pillow under her buttocks so her sex was accessible to him. The slave looked both apprehensive and eager.
Master untied her wrists and re-secured them behind her. He then again fastened her to the overhead apparatus and pulled up so she was forced to lean over. After positioning her to his liking, he showed her a three-foot long leg spreader. Dehumanized as she felt as he put it on her, she kept reminding herself that he was getting her ready for sex.
Sex. The one thing that gave her new life meaning.
Cliff had removed his slave’s gag. As a result, Marina knew the moment the other woman started responding to the cock now planted deep inside her. The sounds she made were part whimper and part pleasure, inhuman.
Master cupped the hand that had been against her sex over her gag. She tasted her excitement. Should she thank him for taking the ball out of her mouth? Maybe she shouldn’t say anything until he gave her permission to—if she could remain silent once he was inside her.
Unfortunately, he left the gag in place and offered no explanation as he stood in front of her and pulled down his jeans. The instant she saw his erect cock, it became her world. Moaning into the ball, she strained toward him.
“A well-trained filly.” He patted her cheeks. “That’s what you’re becoming, little slave. An obedient and eager-to-please piece of property.”
He was wrong! She’d never—
Never what, demean herself? But she already had. Repeatedly.
Self-disgust warred with the fire he’d lit in her. She managed not to hang her head as he moved behind her and planted his hands on her buttocks. She somehow kept from pushing back in invitation.
“You’re a slut.” He eased several fingers over her throbbing labia. “You’re even more a slave to your sexual needs than you are to my cock. You don’t care what goes in you here, just that something does. As long as you’re like this, you’re fair game for any master. You’ll grovel, demean yourself.”
Not just any master, she longed to tell him, but if she did he might believe only he could control and mold her, when that wasn’t the truth.
Wasn’t it?
“The first time I saw you, the term ‘wild child’ came to mind.” He pressed his fingers along her slit. “That’s because I saw a comparison between you and the horses you were riding. You were fearless. I love riding. The feel of all that gentle power has always made an impression on me. My problem is I need a horse that can handle my weight. No racehorse for me. You get—got—speed. I get sturdy.”
He’d mentioned something about having been around horses before. If she’d been capable of thinking of anything except what she prayed was about to happen, she’d pull the bits and pieces of what she knew together for a clearer picture. She’d also find the courage to deal with his use of the past tense
when it came to her riding horses.
Thinking would have to wait until he was done with her. Until she’d reached saturation.
Master took advantage of her inability to move by bringing her to the edge of sexual release, only to pull her back. He repeatedly finger-fucked her while her garbled pleas took on a life of their own. A touch to her clit stole her breath. She hated being so transparent, but her body wanted what it wanted. Drool trailed from her forced-open mouth and she bucked helplessly in her restraints, both fighting and worshipping this man.
All too soon, the only thing she wanted from life was him, not just his cock but the whole of him. What did it matter if she’d once been a wild child? He’d tamed her, broken her.
Finally, his cock plowed into her with a fierce strength that sent her forward the few inches her bonds allowed. A whimpered ‘thank you’ morphed into a scream. Caught. Helpless. Wanting and scared. Drowning and being born.
She couldn’t fuck him as she had yesterday. This time it was all his doing and she was his dancing, climaxing puppet. Much as she loved the hot release, futility threatened to swamp her. There was no stopping her rutting master. She’d become his sex doll, his prisoner and slave.
His.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Remarkable, isn’t it?” Robert said. “That’s what keeps me here. Every slave is different, and yet they’re fundamentally the same.” He chuckled. “I liken them to bowling pins. Sooner or later they’re going to get knocked over.”
Tray chuckled. “I’ve never bowled.”
“Okay, you come up with an analogy. I don’t give a damn.”
The better part of a month had passed since he’d captured this, his first slave. In that time, she’d gone from taking freedom for granted to accepting that her master was in charge of everything about her existence. He’d done what he considered a good job of going by the Carnal rule book while taking her through the necessary steps. Several times management had criticized his performance, with regards to the use of punishment techniques, but he’d told them in no uncertain terms that he didn’t believe in pain for pain’s sake. To his way of thinking, he made much more progress via liberal doses of pleasure. She might not have agreed, because he pretty much kept her on sexual overload. She occasionally begged him to stop pushing her into one climax after another, but the benefits in terms of his getting laid were worth it. Someone looking at their relationship from the outside would conclude that they couldn’t get enough of each other.
That might have been true of him because, hell, he loved watching her react to being stimulated. As for her—that’s where things got fuzzy.
He’d spent considerable time trying to analyze what she’d experienced in that month, but although he now understood more than he thought he ever would about the female psyche, he still had a lot to learn. He’d also acknowledged he’d probably never know everything about her.
Come tomorrow, he reminded himself, it won’t matter.
“At first I compared her to a horse because her job called for being around them,” he said, from where he sat to Robert’s right. Other trainers were here, carrying on casual conversations while they sipped whiskey and watched the events in the adjacent room. “The first time I saw her I saw a wild child, independent. But that’s changed so much I’m no longer sure what she is.”
Robert shook his head. “The fundamentals are still there. If a master knows what he’s doing, he’ll have a compliant little sex slave, but if he lets up or handles her wrong, he’ll have a damn wild animal on his hands.”
The thought of some man mishandling the slave he’d spent a long, draining month getting ready for tomorrow’s auction angered him, but he wouldn’t let his emotions show. Fortunately, thanks to his childhood, he knew how to do that.
“So once she’s been paid for, I’ll no longer have a say in—”
“None. She’ll be shipped off to wherever her new owner wants.” Robert lightly punched his shoulder. “What you’re feeling isn’t unique. After all the time you’ve spent with her, of course you feel a certain connection. There’s nothing like taking on a new project to get over this one. You must be getting tired of handling the same boobs and pussy. Time to move on.”
As he studied the half-dozen slaves through the one-way glass, he wasn’t sure how he felt, beyond a sense of loss at knowing his time dominating her was coming to an end. Despite his doubts about this job, and he had a number of them, he loved being in control.
In preparation for taking the females out of isolation in advance of the auction, they’d been brought into the same room. However, this was hardly a friendly get-together. All but one was gagged, two—including his—wore nipple clamps. Each was restrained in some way.
He’d thought management had lost their damn minds when they’d told him how to prepare her. The strap around her elbows that kept her in a perpetually arched position looked flat out wrong.
No, he corrected, not wrong. The problem was he was weary of questioning Carnal’s techniques. They worked all right, worked fantastically. He just needed to get that through his thick skull. Case in point, his slave had become a near nympho. All he had to do was sexually stimulate her, inflict a little pain, or order her to service him and her juices started flowing. If he’d been this good at training horses, who knew how his life might have turned out.
“Tomorrow’s the last day these bitches are going to see each other,” Robert said. “They know it and yet they’ll try to bond. Watch. You’ll see what I’m talking about.”
Other than her collar, the elbow strap, nipple clamps, and gag were the only things his slave wore. She could bend her elbows and lift her lower arms, not that it did her much good because she couldn’t reach the gag, let alone the wide leather band that kept her in the unnatural position.
Next to some of the slaves who wore hobbles or had been fastened to hooks, she had freedom of movement. Earlier, she’d approached one who’d been forced onto her toes with her arms chained over her head and had awkwardly patted her. Now she was near a tall, thin woman who couldn’t move, thanks to the pussy hook anchoring her to the ceiling. In addition, that woman’s arms had been stretched out to the sides and fastened to the wall behind her. As inventive as that restraint was, Tray was more interested in what his slave was trying to do. The pussy hook woman was the only one who hadn’t been gagged. She was asking his slave questions. His slave responded by nodding or shaking her head, and sometimes trying to speak.
“What’s that about?” he asked Robert. “Why should they give a damn about the other captives when they know they’re graduating tomorrow? Besides, this isn’t communication by any stretch of the imagination.”
“Call it mutual support. Did your slave resist when you pulled her arms back?”
He took a sip of his drink, but instead of the liquor relaxing him, he felt even more on edge. “Her muscles tensed, but she knows better than to put up a fight.”
“And you love seeing her submit.”
“You know the answer to that.”
“I sure as hell do.” Robert laughed loud enough that the other men looked at him. “I’m wondering what might happen if she gets some dried-up old bastard for an owner. After being trained by you, I wouldn’t be surprised if she pushes the limits.”
His tension kicked up another notch. “What’ll happen if she does?”
“Depends on the bastard, but it won’t be good. My guess is the first time she tries to run will be her last.”
Could her master cripple her, make it impossible for her to ever run again? The thought made him sick to his stomach.
Tray finished his drink in a single swallow and held up his empty glass. A naked slave with large gold nipple rings hurried to fill his order. He hooked his little finger through the ring and pulled her to her knees in front of him. Smiling, she held onto the whiskey bottle with one hand while rubbing his cock through his jeans.
There was no need for his slave’s new owner to cripple her, he to
ld himself despite the delicious distraction. He’d thoroughly trained her to put her master’s pleasure first.
At least he hoped to hell he had.
“Ah,” someone sitting behind him said, “here come the vultures.”
He was debating whether to ask Robert how trainers viewed buyers when the door to the slaves’ holding room opened and two strangers walked in. Judging by their demeanor, Tray concluded they knew each other. Maybe they were repeat Carnal customers.
Within a couple of minutes nine other men joined them. Interesting. He hadn’t expected there to be more potential buyers than slaves.
Having to share the room with these self-assured men was the last thing they wanted to do, not that they had a choice. Growing up, he’d attended a number of livestock auctions and had expected something like that to take place here.
The slaves were being manhandled, that pretty much summed it up. Two beefy middle-aged men had planted themselves before the slave with the pussy hook in her and were taking turns slapping her breasts. Every time she started to turn away, the hook pulled her up short. One of the men grabbed hold of the rope attaching the hook to the ceiling. Mouth open, she stood on the tips of her toes. Judging by the men’s grins, he guessed she was begging them to take mercy on her.
Disgusted with the heavy-set men, he searched the crowded room for his slave. He finally spotted her in a far corner, where she was being led in a tight circle by the chain between her breasts. The muscles in her forearms strained as she tried to reach the nipple clamps. The man making her trot looked to be in his forties. He was barely any taller than her, with narrow shoulders, wide hips, and a swollen cock that stuck out from his green slacks. His shirt was an even brighter green, his damned shoes white. What hair he had was so long it reached his collar. How the hell could this loser afford to buy a slave?